You little box, held to me escaping <br />So that your valves should not break <br />Carried from house to house to ship from sail to train, <br />So that my enemies might go on talking to me, <br />Near my bed, to my pain <br />The last thing at night, the first thing in the morning, <br />Of their victories and of my cares, <br />Promise me not to go silent all of a sudden.<br /><br />Bertolt Brecht<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/radio-poem/
